Promising Hearts Page 3

  “Me? Why?”

  “Isn’t this where everyone comes for comfort of one kind or another?”

  “Why, Montana,” Mae whispered. “How’d you ever get to be so smart.”

  Jessie smiled wistfully. “It doesn’t come from being smart, Mae. It comes from being lonely.”

  “But you’re not anymore, are you?”

  “No. I’m not.” Jessie leaned forward and kissed Mae’s cheek. “It’s about time I go collect Kate.”

  “You tell her I said hello,” Mae called as she watched Jessie walk away, her heart aching. She wanted to be happy that Jessie had found someone to love, but remained inestimably sad that she hadn’t been the one to claim Jessie’s heart.

  Chapter Three

  Vance knocked on the plain wooden door marked by a small sign that said Doctor’s Office in unadorned hand printing. When no one answered, she peered through the rectangular pane of glass adjacent to the door and, in the murky interior light, could make out a desk, several chairs, and a bookcase. An unlit oil lamp stood on top of the bookcase. After she knocked again to no response, she tried the door handle and, as she expected, it opened. She entered, put her valise down just inside the door, and took a seat in the straight-backed wooden chair opposite the desk. She felt no particular sense of urgency since there was nowhere else she needed to be. She’d long since learned how to let time slip away, so that the passage of it was no longer a painful burden. Closing her eyes, her mind carefully blank, she settled in to wait.

  *

  “Really, Kate,” Martha Beecher said with an aggrieved expression. “Just because Jessie refuses to dress appropriately is no excuse for you to disregard your upbringing.”

  Kate Beecher took a deep breath, having known that she would invite such a conversation when she’d come to visit her mother wearing only her plain cotton walking dress, without her crinoline underneath. The wide-hooped understructure made her dresses far too cumbersome to move about easily on the ranch or to sit comfortably in the buckboard. She’d never understood why women had considered such an imposition to activity fashionable to begin with, and intended never to wear one again. Nevertheless, she was resolved to keep her temper in check when her mother criticized Jessie. She and her parents, especially her mother, were still on tenuous terms when it came to her new living arrangements and, more critically, her personal relationship with Jessie. “Jessie could hardly be expected to do the work she does dressed any differently, and,” she said with a small pleased smile, “she looks wonderful just as she is.”

  “I’m well aware of Jessie’s…differences,” Martha said primly, “but I see no reason that you should suddenly forget yourself and the things you’ve been taught.”

  Laughing, Kate regarded her mother fondly. She knew how great the sacrifice had been for her mother to leave Boston society and to travel into a wild and unknown land for the sake of her husband’s dreams. And for Kate’s dreams, too. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten any of the important things that you’ve taught me.”

  “Sometimes I wonder.”

  “Oh! That will be Jessie!” Kate set her teacup aside and rose swiftly at the jangle of spurs on the wide wooden porch. Although it was only May and snow still covered the Rockies well down into the foothills, the afternoon was warm, and they’d left the front door ajar to take advantage of the breeze as they’d visited.

  “Why don’t you tell her she needn’t wait,” Martha said stiffly. “Then you could stay for supper and your father will take you…home…in the morning.”

  “Oh, no,” Kate said on her way into the foyer. “I don’t want to be away overnight.” She opened the door wide and leaned up to give Jessie a quick kiss on the mouth. “Hello, sweetheart. Come inside. We were just finishing our tea.”

  “Hello, Kate.” Jessie’s heart swelled the way it always did when she first saw Kate after they’d been apart. Kate was every bit as breathtaking, with her lustrous wavy black hair and midnight eyes, as she had been the first morning Jessie had seen her. And even though every morning for the last week she’d awakened with Kate beside her in the four-poster bed that had been her parents’, marveling at the wonder of their bodies curled together, she knew she’d never get used to having Kate in her life. It felt like a dream, and she imagined that it always would. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, “I’ve missed you.”

  “And I you,” Kate murmured, resting her palm on Jessie’s chest just above her heart.

  Jessie drew her fingers over Kate’s cheek, relieved to see the healthy flush of color where the angry hue of fever had been all too recently. Then she looked beyond Kate into the sitting room and caught a glimpse of the tea things set out on the buffet. A silver serving tray, plates with small sandwiches, and impossibly delicate, hand-painted china cups. The kinds of things that Kate’s mother had been used to in Boston and no doubt missed out here on the frontier. To Jessie, they represented something uncomfortably foreign, and she would prefer roping a dozen wild mustangs at once to balancing one of those cups on her knee. “I don’t want to interrupt. I’ll just wait out here on the porch. It’s a nice enough day and I’d enjoy—”

  “You will do nothing of the sort,” Kate chided, linking her arm through Jessie’s and pulling her inside. “You’ll have some tea and sandwiches.”

  “Good day, Mrs. Beecher.” Jessie swiftly removed her hat as she followed Kate to the sofa. She’d been in the parlor many times in the last five months while Kate had recovered from the influenza that had nearly cost her life. She’d never been entirely comfortable, especially since Martha Beecher had seen to it that they were never alone. She’d treated Jessie as the suitor she’d been, although an unwelcome one, with distant politeness and thinly veiled censure. It had been the happiest day of Jessie’s life when Kate had left the Beecher home to move in with her as her lover and partner at the Rising Star Ranch. If she had her way, she’d never set foot in the Beecher home again, but she had promised Kate’s father that she would not come between them, and she kept her word. Plus, Kate loved her parents and Kate’s happiness was all that mattered to Jessie. If Kate wanted her there, she’d suffer the discomfort of Martha Beecher’s displeasure.

  “Jessie,” Martha Beecher said with infinite civility. “I trust you’re well?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And things at the ranch?”

  Jessie’s face lit up. “The Rising Star did very well at the auction recently, and I’ve acquired some excellent breeding stock.” She stopped at the faint flicker of distaste that crossed Kate’s mother’s face, belatedly realizing that ladies of class were not interested in the actual workings of a horse ranch. “Everything’s going along well. Appreciate you asking.”

  Kate’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she rested her hand on Jessie’s knee. Touching Jessie was so automatic she never considered not doing so. “Jessie has some wonderful plans for supplying horses not just to the stagecoach lines, but to cattlemen all over the territory who need horses to drive their herds east—”

  “Really, Kate,” Martha interrupted. “I should think such things would be of no interest to a young lady.”

  “Oh, no—that’s one of the wonderful things about living out here. Life is constantly changing. The West is growing, and we’re right here to see it.” She looked at Jessie—her love—with tender pride. “Jessie knows the land and the people. And what we need.”

  Blushing, but warmed by Kate’s gaze, Jessie resisted the urge to take her lover’s hand. She’d never been ashamed of what they shared, but she saw no need to force Kate’s mother to witness what she so obviously wanted to pretend was not between them. Jessie still couldn’t understand why anyone would resent something so beautiful and so precious as the love they shared, but she appreciated Kate’s parents’ concern for her welfare and her future. She intended to show them that they had nothing to worry about. She would take care of Kate as well as any man.

  “If you still want to stop in at the store, Kate,”
Jessie said gently, “we should go so as not to be driving home too late. It still gets cold after sundown, and I don’t want you getting chilled.”

  “We’ve blankets in the wagon, and I’m not going to be damaged by a little brisk air,” Kate said.

  “Jessie’s right,” Martha said in a rare moment of agreement. “You mustn’t risk getting sick again.” She’d not told Kate, but Jessie knew that the doctor had said Kate’s recent brush with death had left her vulnerable. She’d recovered, almost miraculously, but she might not fare as well from another illness falling close upon the first.

  Kate glanced from her mother to Jessie with affectionate irritation. “I’m quite all right and quite capable of making my own decisions about when I come and go.” Nevertheless, she squeezed Jessie’s hand and rose to kiss her mother’s cheek. “But I do want to do some shopping before we start back.”

  Jessie followed Kate and Martha to the door, not really listening as they made plans for some ladies’ gathering or another. She was wondering how long she could put off riding out to check the line with her foreman Jed. There were scattered pockets of horses all through the foothills of her property, and she needed to check on the yearlings and foals. Plus, she wanted to cull the herds of the strongest brood mares to put under the new stallion she’d acquired. The only reason she hadn’t set out immediately after the auction was that she didn’t want to leave Kate alone at the ranch just yet. She snapped back to the moment as Martha Beecher spoke her name.

  “Jessie,” Martha said, “you will look after our Kate now, won’t you?”

  Despite Kate’s exasperated sound of protest, Jessie nodded seriously. “You can be sure of it.”

  “You worry too much,” Kate said as she walked to the buckboard with her hand in Jessie’s. She lifted her arms to Jessie shoulders and allowed Jessie to lift her up to the seat. She could have climbed aboard herself, even in her dress, but she loved the feel of Jessie’s arms around her and the effortless way she swung her up. She wished never to miss an opportunity for Jessie to touch her.

  “I worry enough,” Jessie said as she settled next to Kate and tucked the woolen blanket around her waist and legs, letting it drape onto the footboard.

  Kate waved to her mother, who stood in the doorway, then slipped her hand onto Jessie’s thigh as they pulled away from the front of the house. “Haven’t I shown you these last few nights that I’m quite well again?”

  Jessie drew a sharp breath as Kate’s fingers danced over the inside of her leg. “Can’t say as I’d mind you showing me again.”

  Laughing, Kate leaned her cheek against Jessie’s shoulder. “Then take me home, sweetheart. We’ll shop another day.”

  *

  The sound of slow, heavy footsteps brought Vance awake in the nearly black room.

  “Dr. Melbourne,” she said immediately as the door behind her opened, lest she startle whoever was entering and find herself taken for an intruder. She had no desire to be shot ever again. “I’m Vance Phelps.”

  Caleb Melbourne crossed the room to the oil lamp, lit it with a stick match from his vest pocket, and adjusted the wick until the room was softly illuminated, leaving only the corners in shadow. He turned, a large man with a face furrowed and scarred by weather and life’s cruelties. His full head of unruly dark hair and a thick mustache that draped the corners of his mouth would have lent him a rough, handsome look had he not appeared so careworn. His trousers and jacket were rumpled, and at first glance he gave the appearance of a man whose burdens had gained the upper hand. His dark eyes, however, were sharp and inquisitive, despite the puffed and weary lids. “Jonathan’s daughter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Caleb nodded, pulled out the chair behind the rough wooden desk, and sagged into the chair with a sigh. “The last time I saw your father, you and your brother were barely toddlers.” He looked past Vance out the filmy glass and into the darkened street beyond. Shapeless forms clattered by and the shouts of men coming and going filtered through the rough boarded walls. “That was in Philadelphia just after we graduated.”

  The past was not something Vance cared to revisit. Plus she was embarrassed, knowing that her father had asked a favor that could hardly be refused. “I know it’s been a very long time, and I appreciate your kindness—”

  “His letter said that you wanted to work.”

  Did she? She couldn’t remember anymore what it was she wanted, if she wanted anything at all. She had come because to stay would have meant facing her father’s grief and worry day after day and having no way to assuage it. He had already suffered so much, she couldn’t bring herself to add to it. And there were far too many reminders of what they had all lost even for her to block out. She thought of the vast unsettled countryside she had crossed in the last weeks, the crude frontier towns so different from the paved and gaslit streets of Philadelphia, and the glimpse of New Hope she had had on her short walk down the hard-packed, rutted street. There was nothing here to remind her of her old life, her old self, and what might have been. That disconnection from all she’d known, all she’d been, that at least was something she did want.

  With a start, she realized that Dr. Melbourne still waited, watching her with intent regard.

  “Yes,” Vance said, holding his gaze and giving him the answer he required. “I want to work.”

  “We’re the only doctors,” he grimaced, “the only real doctors, in two hundred miles in every direction. There’s plenty passing through selling miracle cures who don’t know as much about medicine as the average housewife. There’s some out there, untrained though they may be, who do know enough to be of use in the places where there’s no one else. For them, I’m thankful.”

  “I’ve seen some gifted healers with never a day of formal training.”

  Caleb looked at her empty coat sleeve and then back to her face. “I imagine you have. It was a brave thing you did.”

  “Or foolish.” Vance thought of Milton and missed him with the same sharp bright pain of those first moments knowing he was gone. “I don’t know how to judge it anymore.”

  “You were in till the end?”

  She nodded. “The last official battle, at any rate.”

  As if sensing her reluctance, and appreciating a person’s right to keep their feelings private, Caleb asked no more, although there were worlds left unsaid in her tormented eyes. “A lot of the people we see to are out on the range. Can you ride?”

  “Yes. And drive a buggy. And shoot.”

  “Good, you’ll need to do all three. For the first couple of weeks I’ll take you around with me until you get acquainted with the land and the folks.”

  “You haven’t asked me about my skills.”

  “Didn’t figure I had to. If you were Grant’s regimental surgeon, I guess you know what you’re about.” He rubbed both hands over his face, then stood. “There is one task I’m going to give you straight off. That’s looking after the girls down at the saloon.”

  “Prostitutes?”

  He nodded. “They’re a good bunch for the most part, and in better shape than most, too—physically and in every other way. There’s a spitfire of a woman there who looks after them.”

  “Is she the madam?”

  “Nothing quite that fancy out here, but she does what she can to see that the girls aren’t mistreated. When you get settled, drop around there and ask for Mae.”

  “Does this Mae have a last name?”

  Caleb looked surprised. “Now that you mention it, not that I ever heard.”

  Vance said nothing, thinking that there was probably more than one person in New Hope with secrets they didn’t care to share. Perhaps this was the right place for her after all.

  “You won’t have any trouble finding her,” Caleb said with a small smile. “She’s the finest-looking thing west of the Mississippi.”

  “I’m sure I’ll have no difficulty,” Vance replied, although she suspected that his assessment was colored by the fact that there were ve
ry few women on the frontier compared to the number of men. “I’ll take a room at the hotel if you should need me before morning.”

  “Get some rest. I expect you’ll need it.”

  Vance stood and extended her hand across the desk. “Thank you.”

  “You might want to hold off on the thanks until you’ve had a chance to see what you’ve gotten into.”

  Whatever it was, Vance thought as she hefted her valise once more and walked out into the night, it would never be as bad as what she’d left behind.

  Chapter Four

  “A doctor? Imagine that.” The rotund bespectacled man behind the counter perused Vance with open curiosity. “I can’t say as I’ve ever seen a woman doctor before.” When Vance said nothing, he cleared his throat and went on hurriedly, “Need a room, you say.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve got weekly rates, but if you think you’ll be here longer, you might try the boarding house on the far end of town.”

  “Thank you,” Vance said wearily, finding any day beyond the next more than she cared to contemplate. It had become far easier not to consider the future. “A room here will be fine for now.”

  “The name’s Silas, in case you’ll be needing anything.”

  Vance started toward the stairs. “No, there’s nothing I need.”

  “G’night, then,” he called after her, craning his neck to follow her as she slowly made her way up the wide wooden staircase. “Imagine that.”

  The room Vance let herself into on the second floor was a clean but unadorned space with a small hooked rug next to a single bed. The thin, cotton-stuffed mattress was covered by a thinner plain blue woolen blanket of the kind she had slept under in the army. She remembered that she’d always been cold and had often wondered if she would ever be warm again. A single chest of drawers stood against the wall with a round mirror nailed above it. A washbasin, lamp, and pitcher were the only items on its scarred surface. She did not light the lamp.